If you got it, flaunt it. 

What exactly is ‘it’? What does it take to be so unmistakably, undoubtedly recognized by a mere two-letter word? 

The party rages on in the Hollywood hills. The music rings through the glass walls of a modern home. It’s an open concept. Someone’s passed out by the infinity pool. Inside, a cluster of guests—a stylist, DJ, up-and-coming actress—gather around a single woman like moths to flame. She doesn’t speak much. She doesn’t have to. Her laugh echoes around the house and pulls the horizon of the night around her like a fur coat. 

She has a drink in her hand, sipping every once in a while in head-to-toe vintage Tom Ford as “Dancing Barefoot” by Patti Smith emanates around her. She’s both aware of the attention and never craves it. Even as other A-listers stumble into the party, she’s a magnet, and everyone else cannot help but be attracted. 

Until the woman leaves. All of a sudden, the party’s down.

This is the elusive pull of the It Girl: a woman so culturally resonant that her presence defines the moment. In essence, a person, typically of fame or notoriety, who gets people’s attention. She’s not just seen; she’s felt. The vibrance of an It Girl is measured by the caliber of fame; rather, how she draws an audience. She is the energy in the room, the face on the magazine. For nearly a century, we’ve used this enigmatic title to appoint those who are impossible to ignore. Yet one wonders how it start and what does it mean today?

To trace the lineage of the It Girl is to go back to the original herself: Clara Bow. The 1927 silent film It cemented the iconography of the word and its alluring meaning. Bow was more than the leading lady—she rose to the ranks of movie stars.

Elinor Glyn’s novella It, which the film was based on, defined such status as, “that quality possessed by some which draws all others with its magnetic force. With ‘It’ you win all men if you are a woman and all women if you are a man. ‘It’ can be a quality of the mind as well as a physical attraction.”

Yet the culture surrounding women has evolved. It’s not just movie starlets whose ethereal presence seem far from the superfans. Rather, it’s singers, models, and more who function as modern day It Girl. Just as the faces of It changed, so has our idea of It. Once synonymous with ingénue allure, the title has since encompassed edgier icons like Madonna, bombshells like Pamela Anderson, and modern-day pop stars like Charli XCX. 

Or, is it all a lie? 

It Girl. Clean girl. Rat girl. Coquette girl. Person or product? Is it less flesh and blood, more memes and moodboard? While Clara Bow was adored from afar, the social media age puts people’s opinions right in front of those receiving such praise.  As these praises and titles are perpetually overused, however, they begin to lose their meaning.

In the social media age, labels run at the top of the hierarchy. Declared a certain way. A girl walks into the frame with hair in a slicked-back bun, gold hoops, and a teal Stanley Cup. Suddenly, she is it. Or maybe it’s because she wore Miu Miu ballet flats to Erewhon, got a constellation tattoo, or said something vaguely ironic in a now-viral podcast clip. The logic doesn’t matter. The feeling does. This feeling sends shockwaves to not only the celebrity in question, but the other, assuming, internet spectator who wishes they could be such a label.

We are in a cultural moment that thrives on naming and renaming womanhood in digestible formats: “rat girl autumn,” “coquette girl,” “girlboss,” “goblin girl.” It’s as if by adding “girl” to anything—dinner, math, failure—we make it palatable again, give it sparkle, or make it meme-worthy. In the process, being a girl becomes less about age or identity and more about performance. The It Girl, once mysterious, is now also part of this internet hodgepodge: hashtagged, monetized, flattened into a trend cycle that turns faster than anyone can keep up with. This hunger for monetization is often the catalyst for such a cycle. Brands and platforms receive engagement for their participation in these trends, and continue to push the idea of the labels.  

The original It Girl was unknowable. Clara Bow didn’t need to post; she existed. Today’s It Girls must brand their mystery. Even rebellion, in the era of content, is aestheticized. Madonna once scandalized the world by rolling around in a wedding dress at the VMAs. Now, it’s Charli XCX posting ironic dumps in a thrifted slip, scored to a 2000s ringtone remix. Both are subversive, yes, but the conditions have changed. To be it now is to both embody and market an image of unbothered coolness—one that is often cultivated through deep awareness of what it means to be perceived.

To be a clean girl is to embody polished minimalism, slicked-back buns, dewy skin, and a devotion to neutral palettes. The mouse girl is its introverted cousin—quiet, bookish, soft. Even messiness, when marketed correctly, is romantic. You can be a feral girl, but only if it’s endearing. On the surface, these trends offer women new ways to express themselves. But beneath that surface lies something murkier: an endless rebranding of femininity that often reduces women to easily digestible tropes. 

These archetypes, for all their self-aware irony, function like digital paper dolls—swap the bow for a claw clip, change the color scheme, and now you’re someone new. The woman behind the aesthetic becomes secondary to the aesthetic itself. Even individuality becomes performative. There’s a quiet violence in this constant classification. When womanhood is endlessly sliced into palatable subtypes, we’re not expanding freedom—we’re reframing objectification. The “types of girls” trend doesn’t ask who you are; it asks how you can be consumed. The TikTok trend “What type of girl are you?” is never really about you—it’s about the image you project and how quickly others can understand it.

The concept of the It Girl always seems to be changing nowadays. Being it on the surface is standing out from the crowd, being a unique source of inspiration for others. In the internet age, as more and more fall into labels, it becomes basic once more.

And that, perhaps, is the double bind of the modern It Girl era. We’ve traded the male gaze for the algorithm’s gaze. It’s no longer just about being watched; it’s about being categorized, liked, and shared—until there’s nothing left but the shell of a girl we once thought was it.

Yet labels and titles persist. These perceptions persist. What can begin not to persist is the response to them. Enter the People’s Princess. Borrowing from the legacy of Princess Diana, The People’s Princess remains a label, yet, one with a different connotation. 

Think of celebrities like Rachel Zegler and Ayo Edebiri—funny, self-effacing celebrities who speak at length about unserious life stories in interviews or seem refreshingly, normal. 

If the It Girl and other girl trends seem aspirational, the People’s Princess is more accessible. The type you could sit next to on the train and feel safe. “People are less interested in celebrating exclusivity—as in, actual princesses and monarchies—and want to cheer on the everywoman,” noted TikTok creator Sabrina Brier in an interview with W Magazine.

The People’s Princess doesn’t have to be an actual princess of the media. It can be a middle-aged, cisgender male actor–an actor like Shawn Hatosy. Most recently featured as a guest star on medical drama show The Pitt, Hatosy basks in the slang he’s been prescribed. “Today I’ve been called a diva, a king, the People’s Princess, a legend, someone’s dad, a teenage girl and a senior citizen. So basically… just your average, everyday icon. Bye for now,” tweeted Hatosy on April 30th, 2025, in response to the comments of a recent Instagram post of his. In cases like these, humor takes center stage, not toxicity. 

What about ‘mother?’ It’s a word seen frequently online, not exclusively to real mothers. It’s a compliment, but without the pressure of the It Girl. It’s rooted in respect and a bit of histrionics. “There is no higher designation than ‘mother’ and it implies a certain status and longevity,” said writer Hunter Harris. 

The rise of labels —often accompanied by hyper-specific aesthetics and narrow physical ideals—has introduced a new vocabulary for femininity, one that feels playful yet too rigid. On one hand, the array of kind callouts for ‘mother’ or exclamations of ‘the people’s princess’ cheer on those who may need that boost. On the other hand, phrases like It Girl can be prescriptive and a vehicle for self-critique or simplifying women’s identities.

Maybe it’s all just a bit. Maybe the girl labels are just placeholders, masks you wear before everyone can find out who they really are. Maybe they’re empowering. Maybe they’re exhausting. Maybe they’re all the above. 

In a world constantly naming and framing women, what does it mean to simply exist without aesthetic? The truth is, most of us will never be it. And most don’t call out “mother!” to anyone on the street. But maybe that was never the point. Maybe being it isn’t about being the moment—it’s about being allowed to change, unbeholden to the frame. The party ends. The playlist loops. 

Somewhere, someone new always walks in. It or not.

But beneath that surface lies something murkier: an endless rebranding of femininity that often reduces women to easily digestible tropes.